


Binary Error

by ProneToRelapse



Series: The Thot Sent By CyberLife [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Desperation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex Pollen, Wire Play, android equivalent..., android sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 02:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15257136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Connor contracts a virus during a case. Hank isn’t too unhappy about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meaiku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meaiku/gifts).



> blame meaiku. Just... Always. Perfect inspiration.

“Just  _once_  I’d like to visit a normal crime scene.”

Connor glances up at Hank, fingers halfway to his mouth. “What constitutes a “normal” crime scene?”

Hank wrinkles his nose in disgust, stepping over the body of a man to stand beside where Connor is crouched. “One that doesn’t look like people fucked each other to death.”

“Ah. I suppose that would qualify,” Connor agrees mildly, and licks his fingertips. 

“ _Connor!_ ” Hank snaps. “You have full access to the CSI sample labs, why won’t you use them?”

Connor’s LED flickers as his systems analyse the sample. “My way is quicker. It seems to be a thirium 310 derivative combined with natural based lubricant.” He gets to his feet. 

“And that is?”

Connor side-eyes him. “Android semen.”

Hank blanches. “That’s disgust—  _You put that in your mouth_ _._ ”

Connor hums absently. “Like I said, it’s faster. It won’t do me any harm.”

“You put a  _stranger’s_  spunk in your  _mouth_ , Connor,” Hank hisses, horrified. “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You say that at every crime scene,” Connor says somewhat fondly. “I’m glad I can still surprise you.”

Hank wretches. “Alright, Officer Oral. What’s the verdict?”

Connor glances around. It’s a bit superfluous that they’ve been called out here. The android had called the police in a sorry state, shaking so badly he could hardly speak, saying that something was wrong with him and his partner had collapse. The human in question, Patrick Kinear, had died of a heart attack, but Hank and Connor had been called in anyway. Just in case the android had been lying. 

He hadn’t. 

The android had been in a horrific state when the police and ambulance arrived, terrified, shaking, sobbing. He’d said his partner had keeled over mid intercourse and not gotten up again. 

“His heart gave out,” Connor says. “Mr Kinear simply died from overly strenuous activity.”

Hank blinks. “He actually  _was_  fucked to death?”

“Yes. I assume the coroner will confirm it after the autopsy.”

“But.” Hank seems to be struggling. “ _How_?”

“Judging by Michael’s – the android’s – state, he downloaded an unofficial sexual performance upgrade that malfunctioned. Poor Patrick couldn’t keep up.”

“Unofficial sexual performance upgrade,” Hank chokes. 

“I just said that, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, I’m processing,” Hank snaps. “You’re  _sure_  that’s what happened?”

“Probability currently sits at 88.96 percent,” Connor says. “There’s always a margin for error, but I’m confident.”

“I,” Hank says, “don’t know what to do with this information.”

“Paperwork,” Connor says mildly. “I’m not doing it for you again.”

“But you’re faster,” Hank says. “And so much better at it. You do it so well—“

“It’s not going to work.”

Hank shrugs. “Well, I tried.”

—

Connor does, in fact, end up doing all the paperwork. Not because Hank asked him to, though Connor would absolutely do anything for him if he asked, but because the whole case is rather intriguing to him. 

Downloading risky upgrades just to please your partner? 

Connor actually understands that motivation. He’d do anything for Hank. He’s absolutely, completely, unreasonably smitten by him. Not that their relationship is anything close to sexual. Connor isn’t even sure Hank is aware he possesses the capability to be intimate. 

Not to mention Hank isn’t interested. The way he mostly avoids physical contact… Hurts. Connor knows he isn’t a particularly tactile person, but he had hoped…

He doesn’t know what he’d hoped for. Something to change between them in the wake of the revolution? Of course Hank sees him differently, sees him as his own person, someone worth respect. But Connor wanted—  _wants_  Hank to see him in a wholly romantic light. He wants it so dearly it aches. 

And so he stays late at the station to finish their paperwork. Partly to feel useful, partly to keep his mind occupied. Even though he’s capable of focusing on multiple things at once. 

So it doesn’t work. Which is  _great._

Connor finishes up and sends the paperwork to Fowler’s terminal with a brief yellow pulse of his LED. It’s no longer technically paperwork, but Hank’s always called it that, so as incorrect as it is, the term has stuck. Connor’s picked up a lot of Hank’s mannerism. 

He owes him so much of his newfound humanity. 

Connor groans loudly. If only he could just get some peace from his wayward heart. 

Right, finish up, go home, enter stasis and work on getting over this foolish attraction. 

He flicks through the rest of his emails, deleting the irrelevant and archiving the useful. He checks over the lab results that confirm the victim’s cause of death to make sure his report was accurate, and forwards that over to Fowler as well. 

Technical have sent over the details of the upgrade and a compressed scan of the laptop the android used to download it. It was a shoddy setup by all accounts. Too risky, and incredibly dangerous. Connor’s LED whirs as he opens the attachments to forward those along too. 

Bad idea. 

Bad, bad,  _stupid_  idea. 

He didn’t even  _think_ _._ He didn’t consider even for one  _second_  that being directly connected to his terminal would leave him open to the virus. Because that’s what it is. It isn’t an upgrade. It’s a crude, violent virus that surges into his systems with a hissing crackle along his neural network. He reels back, snatching his hand away from the terminal, but it’s too late. The virus is sprawling through his systems, writing itself into every line of his code. 

It doesn’t hurt, but  _god_ , it itches. It’s the most intense discomfort he’s ever felt, this awful virus violating his insides, the very core of his being. 

And then it stops. Blessedly, his advanced security programming catches it, wrestles with it, and it fizzles out into nothing. 

Connor leans his forearms on his knees, breathing hard to draw fresh air in to cool his overheated systems. The pulse of thirium in his artificial veins slows to its regular pace, and his pump regulator promptly follows suit. 

It takes a moment longer for the panic to ebb, but he manages, and quickly shuts down his terminal. He’ll ask Hank to help deal with that in the morning. He doesn’t want to risk touching it again. 

He stands, a little shaken but otherwise okay, and leaves the station, murmuring goodbyes to the sparse night shift staff. Thankfully no one noticed his momentary system glitch. 

He gets into the car and sighs heavily, hands tight on the wheel. He’s alright. His systems are fine, the virus has been eradicated. He still makes a note to check in for a diagnostic in the morning. The directive interface in his vision registers it in large letters before disappearing. 

He takes another moment to collect himself before starting the engine and heading for home, warmth and safety. 

Even if it’s not everything he desires. It’s more than enough, and he’s grateful. 

He always will be. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hank doesn’t want to sound spoiled, but he’s gotten used to a certain level of care since Connor moved in. It didn’t take long, surprisingly, for Hank to feel comfortable sharing this space after so long just him and Sumo, but he doesn’t regret it because Connor brings a wonderful warmth to his life. The soft sounds of him milling around and absently straightening the place out, the quiet coos to Sumo, the bustle in the kitchen when he cooks. All things he doesn’t have to do, but make the home feel more lived in.  

 

Like they’ve found a little family, patched together after suffering. A detective, an android and their dog.  

 

And Hank really doesn’t want to sound spoiled, but he’s gotten used to waking up to the smell of coffee and breakfast. He’s gotten used to the heavy weight of Connor beside him when he enters stasis because Hank insisted he use the bed.  

 

He just doesn’t want to walk into the kitchen for water at three AM and see an android staring blankly at nothing, LED glowing ominously in the dark.  

 

It’s definitely not a weak excuse to have Connor close by.  

 

Definitely not that. Not at all.  

 

Hank sits up with a low groan, joints creaking and clicking uncomfortably. He really needs a new mattress, but that’s an issue for another day. He rubs his eyes and yawns so wide his jaw pops, before hauling himself out of bed and padding out into the living room in search of Connor.  

 

No sign of him. Weird.  

 

He’d been working late at the station, though. Maybe he’d wanted to finish everything up and decided to just stay. He didn’t need to enter stasis every night, so it was possible he’d just… Continued working.  

 

Still strange. He hadn’t messaged Hank or anything.  

 

Not that Hank was worrying about him or anything. He could look after himself.  

 

It’s still a little too quiet, getting ready for work by himself. Normally Connor is fussing and chattering away, filling the morning with activity. Hank makes himself a coffee, even though Connor somehow manages to make it just how he likes it even better than he can himself. He puts fresh water and food down for Sumo. He cleans his teeth and smooths down his hair. He really needs a haircut. But Connor seems to like his hair, so that’s not happening any time soon.  

 

Just about passing for awake and human, Hank tugs on his coat and grabs his keys, calling a goodbye to Sumo and heading for the door.  

 

Before remembering that Connor had the car. Fuck.  

 

Ah, well, he can call a cab.  

 

He steps outside. It promises to be a nice sort of day, cool and autumnal. The air has a light chill to it that’s more refreshing than cold. He heads down the path before stopping dead in his tracks.  

 

What the fuck is his car doing parked haphazardly in front of the garage. Only Hank parks it like that. Connor’s parking is always perfectly level. And Hank had let Connor take the car yesterday. So what the fuck is it doing here? 

 

He steps over to it, slowly, warily. The windows are heavily fogged from the cold air outside and the warm interior. Hank reaches for the handle. 

 

A hand suddenly smacks against the window from the inside, leaving a ghostly hand print like something out of a goddamn horror movie. Hank jumps back with a startled cry, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

 

“Connor?!” He wrenches the door open.  

 

And what he sees damn near stops his heart. 

 

Connor, sprawled in the driver’s seat, shirt ripped open with buttons missing and others hanging on by threads, trousers shoved haphazardly down to bunch around his thighs. His cock – Hank had actually doubted he had one, but it’s there and as fucking picture perfect as the rest of him – is hard and straining, tinged blue from the thirium that acts as his blood, the same blue that paints his cheeks and his chest in a breathtakingly pretty blush.  

 

But Hank’s a little distracted from the overall rich tapestry in front of him. Mostly by the pale blue substance streamed across Connor’s stomach and the way he’s panting like a bitch in heat.  

 

Hank  _feels_  the way the blood in his body suddenly surges downwards.  

 

“ _Hank_ _,_ ” Connor breathes and he has no business saying his name like that. Full of half-mad desire and longing.  

 

“What  _happened_?” Hank manages to choke out, stark concern overriding his lust for now. “Have you been in here all night?” 

 

“Email,” Connor chokes out. “Station. Didn’t check— Didn’t  _think,_ I—“ He draws in a shuddering breath. “Virus. From the c-case. Not an upgrade. I-I—  _Hank.”_  

 

And Hank understands. If a little loosely. He understands that Connor has somehow contracted the unofficial sex upgrade that is actually a virus. And it’s got him hornier than a teenager.  

 

“We need to get you inside,” Hank says. “And try to repair you.” He crouches down. “I’m gonna touch you, if that’s okay? Carry you inside?” 

 

Something glazes over in Connor’s darkened eyes. “Please,” he gasps. “Please touch me.” 

 

Okay, Hank’s totally not gonna think about  _that_  for the next forever.  

 

Carefully he slides one arm round Connor’s back, the other under his knees. Connor gives a low keen at the contact, his skin burning hot through his shirt from his overheated systems. Hank forces his mind to stay blank as he lifts Connor into his arms, grunting a little at the unexpectedly heavy weight of him, and hurries them both into the house as quick as he can, slamming first the car door then the front door shut with his foot.  

 

He takes Connor to the bedroom – because it’ll be the most comfortable place for him, obviously – and sets him down carefully on the mattress.  

 

“I’ll call the workshop,” Hank says. “Get someone round to—“ 

 

“No time!” Connor pants, arching and writing on the bed, legs restrained by the trousers bunched at his thighs. Hank forces himself to look at Connor’s face and not his dick. Not that it helps. But it feels more respectful. “My security systems are—  _hnnn_ — attempting to fight it. I’m more— resilient than most a-androids. I can work th-through it, but…  _I need help_.” 

 

“What can I do?” Hank demands. “Can’t you go into stasis and wait it out?” 

 

“No,” Connor moans. “Hank, please help me. Touch me, fuck me,  _please!”_  

 

Hank’s brain does the most curious thing. It seems, though he’s still standing, that his brain just… Stops. He can’t think, he can’t move. All his cognitive abilities just,  _whoosh_ , fly out of his head.  

 

He’s not certain you can have a stroke from lusting too hard but he’s pretty sure that’s where he’s at right now.  

 

“Connor,” Hank manages to force out, voice hollow and weak. “I can’t… Not like this. It wouldn’t be right—“ 

 

“I  _want_ you!” Connor cries. “Goddamn it, Hank, I  _love_  you. For so long, I… God, it’s  _killing_  me.” 

 

Ideally, Hank would not be having this conversation while his android partner writhes on the bed while a sex virus ravages his system. He’d prefer a softer confession. Cuddled on the sofa with the soft sounds of the tv in the background. On a late, summer evening walk through the park with Sumo.  

 

Not that he’s ever though about ways to tell Connor he loves him. Not once.  

 

Briefly, he thinks of Patrick Kinear. Fucked to death by his android boyfriend.  

 

What a  _way_ to  _go._  

 

“I’ll help,” Hank hears himself say. “But we’re definitely gonna talk about this after.” 

 

“Yes, yes,” Connor blurts, fire in his eyes. “Hank, Hank, now, please,  _now_.” 

 

Maybe Hank should feel a little guilty about how quickly he gives in. Maybe he should feel a little disgusted at how pathetic a fight he puts up. He should probably consider the fact that this virus is making Connor say whatever he needs to in order to get what he wants. He does not consider that. Very emphatically ignores that trail of thought. Does it make him a bad person? Who knows. All  _he_  knows is that this beautiful android is saying he loves him, needs his help.  

 

Hank is well and truly fucked, and his willpower crumbles into dust.  

 

He kneels on the bed, reaching out to hook his fingers in the waistband of Connor’s trousers and tug them the rest of the way down his long pale legs. Connor, apparently, does not wear underwear. That fact effectively slaps Hank in the face. He moves back to throw the trousers across the room when Connor stops him.  

 

“Fold—  _Fold_ ,” he barks, a scowl briefly marring his flushed face.  

 

Oh yeah. That’s definitely his Connor still in there. Hank hides a grin as he perfunctorily folds the trousers and lays them on the floor.  

 

“How many times did you come in the car?” Hank asks, stroking his hands over Connor’s soft thighs and eliciting a low keen.  

 

“S-seventeen,” Connor breathes, biting his lip.  

 

“Christ, Connor,” Hank says, eyes wide. “That’s insane.” He strokes up to Connor’s waist, swiping curious fingers through the mess on his stomach.  

 

“Hank,  _please,”_ Connor whines. “Please, don’t tease me, I c-can’t…” 

 

He’s right. Were things different, Hank would take all the time in the world. But right now he’s suffering, and release is his only relief.  

 

Good thing Hank’s already _rock_ fucking _solid_.  

 

“I hope I have lube,” Hank mutters, leaning over to the bedside table.  

 

“Don’t need it.” Connor reaches for him, grabbing his arm tightly. “Internal— I can— I have it, I’m leaking.” 

 

And fuck if _that’s_ not a fucking hot phrase coming from the usually prim and proper android.  

 

“You— From your…?” This Hank absolutely _has_ to see. He sits back on his heels and pushes Connor’s legs up with hands behind his knees. He’s not fucking lying. His hole is slick with the lubricant. Hank’s mouth goes dry.  

 

“Fucking hell, Connor.” He can’t help himself. He pushes a finger into him, driven by little more than instinct and desire. 

 

Connor shouts, hands flying up to grip the headboard. “ _More!”_  He yells. “More, Hank, god,  _please._ ” 

 

Fast and hard it is, then. God, Hank still hopes he has that kind of fucking in him.  

 

Connor takes two fingers easily, and his warm and hot inside, clenching around Hank’s fingers as he curls them deeper. Hank is definitely curious about why on earth an advanced interrogation android has a working asshole and dick, especially ones that feel  _so_  lifelike.  

 

He’s not complaining. He’s just really curious.  

 

“Guys at CyberLife sure  _did_  think of everything, huh?” Hank grins. “But I’m wondering. You got an android prostate or what?” 

 

“I d-don’t see why I should have one,” Connor gasps. “The genital f-features have their own pleasure feedback s-sensors. It seems redundant to add a—“ 

 

Hank doesn’t think it’s redundant. Hank thinks it’d be stupid if they didn’t give him one. So when he feels something a little different inside Connor, a small bundle of wires that sure as fuck  _resemble_  what he’s looking for, he pushes his fingertips hard against them.  

 

Connor  _screams._ His entire body goes taut, all pale lines and beautifully sharp angles. His LED whirls a constant red and his voice layers with static as he spills across his stomach, cock untouched.  

 

“Found it,” Hank says smugly.  

 

Connor stares at the ceiling, eyes wide and chest heaving. Hank thinks he might’ve broken him.  

 

“Hank,” Connor says faintly. “Hank, I swear to  _god.”_  His voice gets stronger. “If you don’t fuck me  _right_  now, so help me I’ll self-destruct.” 

 

“You can do that?” 

 

“ _Hank_!” 

 

“Okay, gotcha.” Hank hides a smile as he wriggles out of his own jeans and shirt, leaving his tank on because… Well, reasons.  

 

Connor lets his legs fall open and the sight makes Hank’s dry mouth water. He shuffles up to kneel between him, brushing his palms softly over his thighs. The android shivers, dark eyes fixed on him. Hank feels something he hasn’t felt in a very long time. Desired. Wanted.  _Loved._  

 

Shame it was a janky sex virus that forced the confession. Although he’s not sure if either of them would ever had said anything otherwise. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.  

 

Sure fucking looks like a blessing. Looks like a damn gift.  

 

He hitches Connor’s hips up so his ass is resting in Hank’s lap. His cock bobs enticingly against his stomach and Hank can’t resist swiping a thumb over the tip, fingers brushing lightly over the shaft. Connor gives a delightful little whine at the contact.  

 

Shifting a little, Hank lines the head of his cock up to Connor’s slick hole, nudging the tip of it against his rim to draw out another of those pretty little whines. Connor doesn’t disappoint, turning his head to pant against the sheets, eyelashes fluttering dark against his pale cheeks.  

 

His eyes roll back into his head as Hank pushes in, body vibrating like a plucked string on an instrument. His legs tremble and his fingers grasp at the sheets, a low, shuddering moan falling from his lips.  

 

Hank’s having a little trouble with how damn  _tight_  he is. Slick with that internal lubricant and hot as anything, but so perfectly tight Hank’s afraid he’s not going to last long at all.  

 

Well, even if he does come too soon, it’s not like there aren’t other things he can do to help. 

 

“ _Hank, move, please.”_  Connor’s broken demand snaps him back into semi-coherency and he rolls his hips in a slow, testing thrust. Connor whimpers, back arching a little.   

 

“More,” he moans. “Please,  _more_.” 

 

Goddamn, Hank can’t say no to that.  

 

He draws out, pulling back until just the tip is inside, then slamming back in hard, Connor’s ass hitting his hips with a satisfying slap. Connor wails, clawing at the headboard, the sheets, writhing as Hank falls into a hard, steady rhythm.  

 

It’s messy, it’s hot, it’s  _perfect,_ and Hank can’t help it when he pushes Connor’s legs up to his chest so he can hit deeper and is rewarded with a beautifully wrecked moan of his name. Connor jerks up the bed with the force of Hank’s thrusts, throws his hands up to brace himself against the headboard for leverage. Pants burst from full lips interspersed with breathy moans as Hank hits deeper.  

 

His mouth falls slack, eyes rolling and moans increasing in pitch and Hank fights to hold on a little longer, panting through the pleasure rolling through his abdomen, coiling tightly. He reaches for Connor’s cock, wraps his fingers round the warm, blue-tinged skin, stroking him quickly.  

 

Connor’s cry is harsh and breathless, torn from his throat as he comes over Hank’s fingers and his own stomach. It’s fucking devastating to watch and Hank wishes he could save the images his eyes see like Connor can. He wants this moment burned into his mind forever. And as Connor tightens around him, Hank gives in and follows, coming with a growl and a shudder.  

 

“ _More,”_ Connor all but sobs, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “ _Please, Hank_.” 

 

Breathless but determined, Hank eases out of him and replaces his cock with three fingers, thrusting them slowly. Connor’s still hard, hasn’t even flagged, and Hank hadn’t expected him to. He knew this was gonna be a long haul.  

 

He lowers himself comfortably on one side, arm free so he can thrust his fingers almost lazily, hitting that bundle of wires only every so often to send a jolt through Connor’s body. He curls forward, hitching Connor’s leg over his hip to keep it out of the way, and lowers his mouth down around his cock.  

 

“ _Jesus fucking Christ!”_ Connor yells, one hand pushing into Hank’s hair.  

 

That’s a fair reaction from someone who’s never had a blowjob, Hank thinks.  

 

He tastes, peculiarly, of nothing. There’s a slightly chemical tang from the thirium come, but other than that it’s just sort of… clean. No real taste. It’s not unpleasant by any means, it’s just… different.  

 

It’s still fucking wild that he has Connor’s dick in his mouth.  

 

It’s  _a_ _wesome_.  

 

He bobs his head slowly, tongue sliding wetly along the shaft as he suckles softly, cheeks hollowing as he goes. Connor is an incoherent mess beneath him, fingers curled in Hank’s hair, tugging on just the right side of painful. It pulls something like a purr from Hank’s throat and Connor whimpers at the vibration.  

 

Hank brings him off slower this time, with practised ease and care. A blowjob is a blowjob after all, and Hank likes to think he’s pretty fucking good at them. His college boyfriends sure never had any fucking complaints, that’s for damn sure.  

 

Connor stiffens as he fills Hank’s mouth, a low cry his only warning before he releases but Hank doesn’t mind. It’s cool and thicker than human come, but it’s easy enough to swallow, and not nearly as unpleasant.  

 

“Hank,” Connor whines, half-delirious. “I c-can’t… Again. It  _hurts_ , but I  _can’t_ _—“_  

 

Hank slowly eases his fingers out and does not hesitate to slip those into his mouth, tasting himself and Connor on the digits. Connor isn’t the only one who likes putting things in his mouth after all.  

 

“What can I do?” Hank asks, stroking a hand over Connor’s stomach. “What do you need?” 

 

Connor is quiet for a long moment, shivering. As Hank moves his hand over his abdomen, the skin slowly starts to shift away, revealing that glistening white chassis beneath.  

 

“I need…” Connor swallows. “I need you to overheat my system. I need to— To burn it out. Like a human fever.” 

 

Hank thinks he understands. He pushes himself back up onto his knees, shifting back to cross his legs comfortably, drawing Connor’s legs over his hips again. He keeps stroking over the white plastic of Connor’s frame, enjoying the little shivers under his fingertips.  

 

“You want me to get in there?” Hank asks. “Play around with your circuits a little?” 

 

Somehow the blush on Connor’s cheeks gets darker. As if Hank hasn’t just fucked him and then let him come down his throat. He supposed this is a little more intimate, in a way. Connor letting Hank inside his very being. The closest they can get to interfacing; Hank’s bare skin on Connor’s vulnerable components.  

 

“Please,” Connor whispers. There’s a soft click, then a gently hiss and a plate in Connor’s abdomen slides open. It’s small, rectangular, about fifteen centimetres long and half that length wide. Connor’s insides glow a soft blue, wires and connectors thrown into shadow.  

 

Hank itches with anticipation. He chances one last glance at Connor to make sure this is okay before he carefully slips his fingers into the opening.  

 

Something shifts in Connor’s face as Hank’s fingers curl around warm wires and metal casings. His expression is almost reverent, wide eyes staring unseeing at something just above Hank’s head. His mouth is open, jaw slack, and his chest stops heaving with those heavy breaths. Hank runs his thumb over a metallic line and Connor moans, eyelids fluttering.  

 

“Good?” Hank asks, rolling the wires between his fingers. Connor gives a helpless whine, head falling to the side, eyes unfocused. Bolstered by that reaction, Hank continues his exploration, free hand moving between his legs to palm his own hardening cock.  

 

The wires start to heat under Hank’s fingers, slowly at first, then faster as Hank manipulates them more confidently. They burn his fingertips but he doesn’t pull back. He keeps stroking and caressing, watching in aroused fascination as Connor’s body starts to glow a soft blue, skin peeling back further to reveal more of his chassis. He’s not panting anymore, doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, but he’s still making those soft, helpless sounds of pleasure, so Hank keeps going, one hand in Connor’s wiring, the other stroking his own cock.  

 

A shudder ripples from the top of Connor’s head down to his toes. Hank feels it shiver up his own arm, and the wires heat to such a temperature that Hank finally has to pull his hand back. The plating snaps closed and Connors body  _shines_ , all the lines on his body, all his connections and the spaces between plates flashing that low, almost lilac light.  

 

Hank spills into his hand with a bitten off shudder and Connor’s eyes slide closed. He stays like that for a long moment while Hank catches his breath, long enough to trigger a creeping sense of panic. 

 

His eyes open slowly. They find Hank’s own, and he smiles.  

 

“Thank you, Hank,” he says softly. “I’ve eradicated the virus now.” 

 

“Oh. Good.” Hank swallows, suddenly very aware of how naked and come-streaked they both are. “That’s, uh… Great.” 

 

Connor slowly sits up until his sitting cross legged opposite Hank, mirroring his posture.  

 

“I know that must have been difficult for you,” Connor says. “I’m sorry to have put you through that. I understand completely if you’re angry with me.” 

 

“I’m not angry,” Hank says. “I’m just… A little overwhelmed.” 

 

“Understandable,” Connor says. “If you want me to leave, that’s also understandable.” 

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Hank says. “You said you loved me.” 

 

“Yes,” Connor agrees, suddenly looking everywhere but at Hank. His LED has calmed to an even yellow, but his distress is still obvious. “And I didn’t want to just blurt it out like that. I understand if you want me gone after this.” 

 

Hank stares at him. “Connor, you know what?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“You’re a fucking moron sometimes.” 

 

“I don’t follow.” 

 

Hank grins helplessly. “With all your processing power, you didn’t consider the possibility that I’d love you back?” 

 

Connor’s eyes snap back to him.  

 

“Kiss me, you plastic idiot.” 

 

Connor smiles like the fucking sun and launches himself at Hank, toppling them both back onto the bed so he can kiss him enthusiastically. 

 

And… badly. Jesus Christ.  

 

“Ease up,” Hank grunts, shoving him back. “How the hell can you fuck like that but not know how to kiss?” 

 

“The virus helped to some degree.” Connor’s LED flickers. “There.” 

 

“There what?” 

 

Connor lowers his head, slowly taking Hank’s mouth again. It’s…  _so_  much better this time. Soft lips moving against Hank’s own, the gentle, enticing slide of a warm tongue against his own, breaths mingling and the light catch of teeth nipping against his lips. Hank  _melts._  

 

“Hang on—“ He shoves Connor back again, frowning. “Did you just down a  _kissing_  protocol?” 

 

“Among other things,” Connor says with a smile that makes Hank’s heart stutter. “Would you like to try them out?” 

 

“Shit, Connor, you can’t run me that hard. I’m not as young as I used to be.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“…Yeah, I wanna fucking try them out.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
